


feel the tide (you and i now)

by allourheroes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, F/M, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Violence, Temporary Amnesia, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After drowning, Castiel is found by the Winchesters. (Dean/Cas Mini-Bang 2012)</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel the tide (you and i now)

**Author's Note:**

> Started out as a big bang and downgraded to a mini. Spoilers for season seven. Beta'd by peltiers (tumblr), impalafortrenchcoats (tumblr), and anon_unknown001 (LJ).
> 
> Art by anon_unknown001 can be seen [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/all_our_heroes/41268816/491/491_original.jpg).
> 
> [DCBB Community Masterpost](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/85794.html)

Castiel is falling and he has no control over it. He’s falling not just downwards, but _through_ \--through space and time and he can’t do anything about it except hope he can find the Winchesters again. The energy of his grace pulses out, away from him and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks this is exactly what he wanted.

It’s so cold though and he wants to pull it back towards him, wants the familiarity of it to warm him. He can’t remember why he would have torn away from his grace, from his home in Heaven, but there’s nothing he can do as he plummets down to Earth.

Then, it stops.

Castiel isn’t sure where he is. In fact, he’s not entirely certain who he is, only that there’s something under him now, hard and unyielding. It’s different than the seemingly unending nothing he’d been rushing through.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. It’s felt like an eternity, but it could have been near instantaneous.

He doesn’t try to move. His eyes are shut tight as if bracing himself, although he can’t remember why.

There’s a noise moving closer. A voice.

“Hey, are you alright?” Something was gripping his shoulder, somewhat jarring, but ultimately forcing him still for what must be a man to examine. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite know _how_ to, opening his mouth only to close it again uncertainly. He must be sick, he thinks. His skin is sticking uncomfortably to his clothes and his breathing is coming in hard, harsh gasps.

“Let me see, John.” Another voice, different than the first. There was a small tinkling sound of metal on metal.

Curiously, Castiel blinked until his eyes began to cooperate, opening them to find a blurry world slowly regaining its focus. There was long, blonde hair, but, more importantly, the source of the noise: a bracelet on the woman’s wrist with charms Castiel could recognize. Protections. Some semblance of familiarity. His fingers were reaching towards them without a thought.

Mary could’ve sworn the man on the ground murmured something about demons before his eyes were slipping closed and he passed out again. She kept her eyes on him as he spoke, checking for any obvious sign of possession, “John?”

“Yeah?” Her husband looks as calm as ever and she doesn’t want to alarm him. Her heart may be beating too fast, but she could keep up appearances.

Thinking quickly, she knows it’s better not to hand him over to someone else--someone who is very unlikely to know what to do in the event of the supernatural. If he was just a man who knew too much, and he _said_ anything, he’d likely be locked away. And for what? Telling the truth? At least she could give him a chance to regain his senses, find out what happened. If he was looking for help, Mary could point him in the right direction. If he _was_ a demon, he was a weak one at that. She could take him.

“I think it might be best to take him back to the house. It’s closer than the hospital, anyway.” She may not be a hunter anymore, but that didn’t mean she no longer had the instincts of one.

John Winchester considered her a moment, but he had always trusted his wife’s judgement. He puts the man over his shoulder and carries him to the car, doing his best to not agitate any injuries he might have. He’s still thinking about arguing Mary and taking this stranger straight to the hospital, but the way she stares out the window gives him pause.

She touches her bracelet and hopes she isn’t bringing harm to herself or John, not after she lost everyone else. Not after what she did to bring him back.

~

Dean has no idea how they managed to get him here--wherever _here_ was--but he is _pissed_.

He _knows_ he was asleep in a hotel room in the middle of Wyoming, Sam a couple feet away, ten minutes ago. Now, he’s on the side of the road hoping he’s not already caught in some sort of trap. At least they’ve had the decency to clothe him. That, apparently, is a concept they understand.

He thought this whole business of being zapped to wherever for shits and giggles was over with. It was a part of his life more unsettling than most--and that coming from someone whose life revolved around killing the things that go bump in the night. And day, sometimes, but everyone knows nighttime is just damn scarier and those creatures out there certainly know how to take advantage of it.

Now, he needed to figure out who to blame and how the hell he was going to get back to Sam without his baby to drive.

He supposed it could have been worse--could’ve been the middle of nowhere. Or even worse than that, _time travel_.

He shuddered at the thought.

Dean looks down the road a ways, trying to discern which direction he should head in since he hasn’t seen any cars yet. Frustrated, he stares into the sky, billions of stars shining back at him, “Very funny. Now get me the hell out of here.” He sighs, “Or at least tell me what I’m supposed to be doing.”

He waits, but no response comes.

“Great. Thanks, guys. Really. I love this little _game_ we’ve got going.” He hopes whoever is responsible this time understands sarcasm…and that he’ll get to punch them in the face later.

He shields his eyes as headlights go by, too fast for him to have flagged them down--although he tries, lamely, chasing after the car only to have it zoom off. Judging by the year of it, it probably belonged to some old guy, anyway. He probably didn’t even _see_ Dean.

With one last glance in the other direction, Dean decides he might as well head the same way the car had. Hopefully it would lead towards civilization and he could figure out how the hell he’d get back.

Trudging along, he doesn’t have to go _too_ far before he finds a sign: Lawrence, Kansas.

His breath hitches in his throat. Going anywhere close to home was always hard, and, besides when Sam’s visions had led them there, he did his best to _not_ go. Even on the occasion they’d get a call for the area, he’d try to find someone else who could handle it.

He had reasons, though. Well, they’d be more accurately labeled “excuses,” but he preferred “reasons.” It made his excuses sound far more legitimate.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he silently cursed fate, every angel, and anything powerful enough to take him here without his consent.

He kicked a rock and sent it skittering further down the road. _Why here?_

~

The man John and Mary had found hadn’t regained consciousness since they’d gotten him back to their house. Night had fallen and they’d placed him in a spare bedroom.

John had demanded they take him to the hospital, but Mary was adamant he stay.

“Mary, we don’t know anything about this guy. He could be crazy. Or violent. There’s no reason for him to be _here_. We can take him to a hospital, they’ll know what to do with him.”

“He’s _staying_.” Mary looked hard into her husband’s eyes until he finally fell silent on the issue. “We’re waiting for him to wake up.”

She had checked him over--she may not be a nurse, but she was trained to tend wounds…and there weren’t any. None she could find anyway. He hadn’t been stabbed or bitten or otherwise _attacked_ , and he hadn’t reacted to holy water, iron, or silver. He’d passed every test she could try on him, without raising too much suspicion from John.

He appeared to just be a man, but one who was still a person of interest in her book.

In any matter, he seemed somewhat unwell. They’d stripped away his suit jacket, removed his loosened tie, and watched him.

He thrashed around in his sleep, whimpering, and Mary put a comforting hand to his cheek. He wasn’t feverish and the sweating had stopped, but he was weak.

She left him alone a while, until she heard him speaking. She couldn’t discern his words, even as she placed herself at his side again. They didn’t sound like English. Unless you counted what seemed to be a name. “Dean.”

Frowning, Mary wondered if there was such thing as coincidence. After all, that was what she was to name her son--for her mother, Deanna. She tried to brush it off, there were a million Deans out there. There was no way he knew her plan.

Nevertheless, her gut twisted unpleasantly.

She just needed him to wake up, tell her his situation, and she could send him on his way. Preferably as soon as possible.

After another hour or two wandering her living room and kitchen aimlessly, John had convinced her to go to bed.

Mary had only just begun to drift off when she heard him calling for her.

~

“He’s awake.”

Castiel’s stare was a little bit startling when Mary’s eyes met it. She smiled tentatively and, slowly, he did the same in response. “Hello,” she greeted, cautiously warm.

“Hi.” Castiel’s blue eyes moved from her to John. “I…don’t know how I got here. But thank you.” His voice is gravelly and deep.

A bit shocked at how earnest the man seems, John smiles as he speaks, but he tries to get straight to the point, “Any idea what happened to you? You were just out there, laying on the ground. There’s gotta be a story behind that.” He’s pushing it, he knows. The man has been unconscious for the better part of twelve hours, he should take it easy on him. Then again, he wants to know what it was about this stranger that made his wife want him to stay.

Castiel frowns, although it could have been described as a _wince_. “Sorry, I…”

Flashing her husband a look of disbelief, Mary turns up her charm, taking the man’s hand in her own. She watches his features become less rumpled, calmer. When she speaks, her tone is soothing, “It’s okay. Could you tell us your name?”

He thinks for a moment, an echo of someone in his head. A word he’d heard so many times. It seemed…important. At least based on the way someone used to say it to him. “I…think my name is…” He rolls the word around in his mouth, which is far too dry, “Cas.” He’s coughing then and Mary is sending John to get him a glass of water.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “Cas, huh? I haven’t met anyone with that name before.”

Castiel shrugs, “Anything can be a name. That’s mine.”

The former hunter let out a laugh at that, and another as Cas’s expression wrinkled in confusion. She gives him another appraising look, she doesn’t hear John’s heavy footsteps returning yet. Mary inhales deeply, face turning more serious, and holds up her bracelet, “Do you…recognize these?”

Castiel stares at them, pieces snapping immediately into place. Demons. Hunters. The words to every exorcism. All of that comes to him in a flash. “Yes.” His eyes swing from the jewelry to hers again and she finds it almost hard to breathe with the intensity of his stare.

Her eyes narrow, “Are you in some kind of trouble? Is there…something after you?” His lips thin and she takes a guess, “Are you a hunter?”

He considers it. It doesn’t feel like a lie to say yes, but it doesn’t quite feel like the truth either. He clears his throat, “Maybe.”

John reappears, setting the water down on the nightstand.

Castiel takes it, drinking it down greedily until the glass is emptied. The two are watching him, as if awaiting more answers he’s not so sure he has. “Can--” He swallows. “Would it be alright if I slept a few more hours?”

“Of course,” John tells him. “But we’re talking in the morning, okay?”

Cas nods. His eyes meet Mary’s again as she leaves without another word.

She didn’t want this back in her life. She didn’t really want any reminders of what she used to do, of the family she’d lost, but she wasn’t going to throw him out in the middle of the night. In the morning, she’d find out enough to get him headed in the right direction, or, at least, away from her family.

~

Things didn’t look quite right around town. Gas was too cheap, the signs were unusual, but…familiar. It was only when Dean picked up a newspaper that he knew exactly what the problem was.

“Son of a bitch!” He stamps his foot on the ground childishly, “Again? Lesson learned, alright? So mojo me back to Sam so I can go on with my life already.” He purses his lips and stares up at the sky, waiting. He closes his eyes, breathing in deeply, about to say something he _hates_ to, “Please.”

He waits a moment. Then another. He cracks open an eye to find himself in the same spot.

“Why can’t you ever take me somewhere fun? Like Las Vegas…or spring break in Cancún.” He rubs at his eyes and looks to the stars again, murmuring, “Sam and I could really use a vacation, you know.”

He has no idea what time it is, despite the fact that he’s wearing a watch. They may have dressed him, but they didn’t reset the time for his arrival destination. He huffs out a breath and lays down on a bench to wait until morning.

~

Inevitably, Dean falls asleep. He wakes up to a policeman speaking, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t sleep here.” There’s an old woman behind the man pointing at him and scowling.

Dean blinks and nods, sitting up, “Yeah.” His voice is rough, “Yeah. I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

He’s pretty sure he knows where they want him to go now: the house. The house he’d grown up in. The house their mom had died in. No, scratch that, was _going_ to die in. Seeing the younger versions of his parents made his chest feel as if it had been squeezed. It was both wonderful and torturous. They were here. Now. But they’d been dead for years to him. It would give him a false sense of hope…if he were still capable of it in the first place.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, finding enough change to get himself a coffee. It’s not that he wants to be stuck here…but putting off seeing his parents for another hour or so could give him some time to think. Maybe he’d know what to say by then.

Or maybe it just gave him that: time.

~

Breakfast is disturbingly normal and the Winchesters' guest is up bright and early. Cas wears one of John's shirts and the slacks they'd found him in.

John is already out for the day, taking an early shift at the garage. Mary still worries what Cas could mean for her and her family, but he seems nice enough. She doesn't trust anyone--especially not hunters and the like, not anymore--so her hospitality is a matter of basic manners and continued curiosity in the subject that dominated the life of the Campbell family as far back as she can remember.

The confusion with which Cas eyes everything on his plate once he has a fork in hand only heightens her suspicions--but her interest is piqued. He awkwardly attempts to pick up his egg on his fork and she sighs.

"Don't like them over easy? I did ask, you know."

He carefully gets it halfway to his mouth before he looks up at her and it slides back down onto his plate.

She laughs good-naturedly and leans forward, wondering if it's her pregnancy causing the mother in her to come out. He doesn't _seem_ threatening. She cuts the now somewhat mangled egg into manageable pieces. "There. Better?"

Cas nods. "Thank you," he tells her earnestly and a little sideways grin appears on her face. Was there such thing as too polite to be a hunter?

Digging into her own breakfast, Mary sees Cas watching her technique and emulating it.

"I know I've seen it done and I must have done it before, but maybe my amnesia is causing me more problems than I thought," he adds, having seen her take notice of his actions. She smiles and he returns it.

"Do you remember anything else?" Mary asks, feeling like he's stable enough for her to press him a little more.

Cas sets down his fork, looking vaguely disappointed with himself, "Not much. Sorry."

She wonders if his throat hurts, listening to the gravelly sound of his voice, especially apparent in the lowness of his last words. She catches something in it though, "Oh, but there was something?"

"A car. Black Chevy Impala."

Mary sighs, but attempts to keep encouraging him, "That's John's car. We drove you here in it."

"Oh." Cas frowns, brows furrowing like there's something chafing him about her response, itching just below the surface. "There was something else," he murmurs, pushing food onto his fork if only to seem less obvious in his discomfort.

Mary's eyebrows raise and she swallows the bite she'd taken, "Oh?"

"It was a...a feeling, I suppose." His eyes lift from his plate to meet hers before flickering away, pursing his lips, "Like I need to find someone. That they were important. That I'd do anything for that person."

Eyes widening, she realizes she's been staring and sits back in her wooden chair. She clinks her fork on the plate too loudly and clears her throat as if to cover.

Cas senses that she's acting differently and scoops another bite onto his fork, "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

Quickly, she places a hand on his wrist, "No, no, it's fine. Do you..." She sucks one of her lips in, contemplating whether or not she should get herself more involved when she was trying not to from the beginning. She blows out a long breath and brushes a long, blonde lock of hair behind her ear. "Any idea who it is? Or was?" The word is out before she can stop it and she almost flinches. There's a prickle on her skin Mary hasn't felt since she gave up hunting.

"That..." He shakes his head. "Is unclear."

She huffs a noise of apprehension, wishing to help while knowing it would likely jeopardize her new, "normal" life. She opens her mouth to speak after watching him eat for a moment, maybe to just ask something simple--like whether he's enjoying his breakfast--but there's a knock at the door and she excuses herself instead.

~

Dean drinks his coffee slowly, wondering if he can get away with ordering pancakes or if his modern bills will be far too odd for them. He knows they will be, but the smell of pancakes tortures his olfactory sense.

His chest clenches when he sees the familiar car pass by the window and he takes another sip of coffee, patting his jacket to assure himself he had something stronger to fortify himself for what was sure to be more of the same his life tended to throw at him--pain.

His parents were gone. Cas was gone. Bobby was gone. It was difficult to face any of those realities, and facing any of them--face to face--and pretending otherwise without being able to do a damn thing to prevent their fates was not high on Dean's to-do list. He much prefers ignoring the issues and pretending there are none to begin with.

His mind wanders to Sam and he hopes whatever has messed with him has left his little brother the fuck alone. Someone is going to have to pay for his soon to be superficially repressed trauma, but it's going to be so much worse for them if they've involved Sam.

The waitress eyes his mug and he shakes his head at her. This one cup of coffee is mostly for show while he collects his thoughts and he doesn't particularly want them to start scrutinizing his change by tempting them with more. A state quarter would definitely cause them question his currency, and him in general.

His weakness is his family--blood and otherwise, despite his inability to express it. Maybe it'll be easier to go now, with his dad presumably out and only his mother, whose memories of meeting him before have likely been wiped, to talk to. He has to figure out some reason his heart needs to be wrenched out now and he'd bet the answers were there, just as he'd suspected all along.

Dean drinks the rest in one swig, cold and bitter on his tongue. Nothing compared to the bitter taste fate has left him with.

~

When she gets the door, Mary hesitates, but only for a second. She opens it halfway and is met with an almost startled smile. "Hello?"

"Hi," Dean tries for beatific in his smile and tones it down so as not to look crazed. "Could I, uh, talk to you for just a minute?"

"I've got a guest here," she starts.

Dean can already imagine the door slamming in his face, " _Please_?" Her expression falters. "It's important."

" _One_ minute," Mary tells him, and allows him entrance with a wary look.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, I'll only be..." He breathes in. Out again. Rage and relief warring through him in a way he doesn't quite understand. He finishes his sentence, "A minute."

Their eyes lock in a way Dean knows probably makes everyone else uncomfortable--well, Sam has told him as much several times over. He tells him it's like a game of chicken to see who looks away first. Right now, he _really_ doesn't want to look away, to find this a figment of his ever declining sanity, but he must. He blinks and...Cas is still there. Standing in his goddamn parents' house with his _mom_.

Extending a hand, he attempts a smile like Mary's--although her expression is swiftly switching to something much harder to define, "Hi, I'm Cas."

"Cas," Dean breathes, swallowing down the lump his throat. He looks to his mother, who seems to be taking in the scene with something akin to disbelief.

"You two know each other?" she asks. Mary takes in Dean's appearance and what Cas had told her the night before; something about it clicks, "You're a hunter, aren't you?" She'd be angry if it weren't exactly what she needed.

Dean clears his throat, unsure who to keep his eyes on. "Yeah," he answers gruffly, giving her his attention.

"'Yeah,' you're a hunter, or 'yeah,' you know him?" Mary watches Cas's head tilt, taking in all that he can. Maybe Dean isn't who he was trying to find, but a hunter showing up out of the blue after Cas appeared yesterday would likely know _something_ about it. Or about who he was looking for.

Dean thinks about lying, but it might only serve to cause more confusion in this already fucked up situation, "Uh, both." He runs a hand through his hair, "Mo-- Er, Mary, right? Mary Campbell?"

" _Winchester_ ," she emphasizes, unknowing how synonymous that name, too, will become to hunters.

"Right..." Dean allows himself a moment to look at her, the fierceness in her expression and the glint in her eyes. He bites his lip and gestures between his mother and his former ally, "How'd, uh, how'd you two meet?"

"Why do you want to know?" Mary challenges, feeling protective of a man she'd only met a day ago. Hunters weren't always what they seemed. She'd like to trust him and get reminders of her family's misfortune as far away from what she and John had built as possible, but Cas seemed kind and this man... There was something _damaged_ about him. "Who are you?" she adds before he can respond, the familiarity of interrogation coming back to her easily.

The word sticks in his throat, dozens of aliases refusing to come to mind as his mouth opens and snaps shut again.

Castiel's eyes narrow and he says the name almost reverently, "Dean."

The intimate sound of it is enough to make Dean uncomfortable, but he finds himself nodding dumbly anyway, swallowing before he can manage out an affirmation, "Yeah, I'm…" He pauses, gaze unable to meet his mother's and instead finds the floor. "Dean."

Mary, now sitting on the arm of the sofa, doesn't realize it, but her hand goes automatically to the slight swell of her stomach, "Dean?"

"Yeah," he repeats, eyes flickering to Mary's hand before returning to her face. "Yeah. So, how'd you meet Cas here? We're _old friends_ ," he explains with a broad, faked smile. His eyes wander sidelong to Castiel, smile crumbling a bit.

She drops her hand fast, afraid she's given away something she shouldn't have. Mary stands up straight, defensive, arms crossed over her chest. "My husband and I found him in town yesterday. He seemed like he could use some help." She says it pointedly, accusatory. _Where were you when your **old friend** needed someone?_

"Right. Could we, uh, have a moment?" Dean asks without further preamble.

Mary looks to Cas, who has been observing them with a degree of intrigue. "You okay with that?"

Cas nods and she gives his shoulder what she hopes to be a comforting squeeze before retreating to the kitchen, uncertain how much privacy she should actually allow.

Dean's fist clenches and he's pulling it back without a thought, slugging Cas on the jaw.

Cas staggers backward, hand clutched to his face, lip bloodied.

"You son of a bitch," Dean says roughly, quietly. Everything he had suppressed wells up and threatens to lash out, eyes wet with tears he refuses to shed.

Cas stares at him, not quite standing upright.

Pointing to him and then to the outside world, Dean spits out his words like blood after a fight, "You have _any_ idea what kinda mess you left us in?" His jaw is tight with anger, the emotion he lets himself feel in Castiel's presence. Anything else is too confusing, too real.

Eyes wide, Cas shakes his head. He doesn't speak.

"I-- We thought you were _dead_. We lost Bobby to one of those goddamn leviathans. And Frank. We're _losing_ out there and it's because of you." Dean's whole body is taut, like a drawn bow, ready to launch another accusation at him.

A drop of Castiel's blood hits the floor, drawing Dean's attention.

"You're-- you're bleeding. You're..." He shakes his head, anger turning to despair. "Say something. Apologize.  _Anything_ ," he hisses through clenched teeth, vision blurring.

"I don't think he remembers," Mary says from the wall, causing Dean's attention to snap towards. There's a fire in her eyes as she steps forward to face him, positioning herself between Dean and Cas. "And even if all that is true, I don't appreciate someone coming into my house and assaulting my guests."

Dean lets out a sharp chuckle, "Trust me, we've done worse to each other." Those times were different. A blow from Dean should've done nothing to him. Dean can feel the pain surging through his hand, but it's not like when he hit him before--remembers him being hard and unyielding like a brick wall. Sure, this was a little more satisfactory on Dean's part, but _Dean_ shouldn't be able to make him bleed like that.

_He's human._ The thought comes to him and he swallows down a lump in his throat.

"I'm alright," Cas tells Mary, stepping forward. His expression is too calm for someone who's just been hit in the face, but Dean can see past it--the frustration at being largely unable to do anything about his predicament. It was a familiar look for him. His eyes focus on Dean, softening in sympathy at the way the man is so obviously suffering. "You want me to apologize for what I've done. I may not know exactly what it was, but...I'm sorry, Dean."

There's just enough of a pause before his name to make it stand out and Dean flexes his hurting hand. He addresses Mary, "If he can't remember, then how _the hell_ did he know my name?"

Cas straightens, "You said we were friends once. You must have been important."

Dean thinks the multiple meanings to be found in his words were perhaps giving his mom the wrong impression because her mouth is open in shocked comprehension and she's looking at him differently now.

Dean wants to explain it away, but Mary's expression changes to something closer to disappointment. " _Him_?" she asks Cas disbelievingly.

~

The three of them sit around the table in the kitchen, Mary’s elbows supported by the surface of it, head resting in her hands. “Let me get this straight,” she says, nodding minutely towards Cas, “He’s an angel?”

“Was, I guess,” Dean says, eyeing Cas wearily. He still had a lot of pent-up anger, but it was hard to take it out on someone who didn’t fully understand the situation. He barely has a leash on it and it’s annoying how innocent Castiel appears without his powers or his memories when Dean so desperately wants someone to blame.

“Because angels are real?” Mary raises an eyebrow, over her initial surprise. “And you’re both from the future?” She says them as if they’re questions when she knows they’ve already been covered, even if Dean was holding an awful lot back from her.

Cas looks at his hands, bloodied rag in one, “Do you know why I’m…like this? Why I’m…human now?” His blue eyes meet Dean’s green ones.

Dean wants to comment on how Cas always thought he had all the answers, but now doesn’t seem like the time. “Nope.” He sees the drug-addicted Castiel from 2014 in his mind and blows out a long breath, “You don’t remember anything? _Really_?” The former angel has made it very apparent that he doesn’t, but Dean can’t leave it be. If Cas could remember, at least he’d have _some_ kind of help--someone he could be almost honest with.

Cas shakes his head, but offers what little he can, “You have a brother. You’re hunters. I was your…ally.” He does’t dare attempt the word friend again, feeling that it wouldn’t be his place and unsure it was true to begin with--no matter what he may feel. “I…” He hesitates. Cas knows he shouldn’t tell Dean what he had confided in Mary that morning, that it was too intense.

“So no power-tripping then?” he asks. “You don’t remember sucking up all those souls and claiming to be a new god and killing all those who didn’t kiss your ass? Or how ’bout the leviathans using you as a meat suit?” He holds up his hands, “Sorry. Right. No memory of that.” It’s an odd mix of satisfaction and guilt he feels looking at Castiel, the way his bottom lip has slightly swollen and the side of his jaw has already begun purpling.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mary breaks in, “but I think, for now, at least, you should calm down.” She presses her palms to the table, speaking slowly and clearly, “Cut the guy some slack.” She smoothes the tablecloth, “You were his _friend_ , right? He seems to care an awful lot about you and yet…you couldn’t stop any of that from happening?”

Dean gapes at her, wanting to argue, but _it’s his mom_. “I don’t know,” he answers, finding it to be more truthful than he’d expected. He sighs and eyes the fridge.

“There’s beer in there and you can make _yourself_ a sandwich,” she tells him pointedly. “I’m going to find out when John is getting home.”

~

John gets home a couple of hours later and Mary uses it as a reason to excuse herself. She can tell John some semblance of the their story while at the same time purposely leaving the two of them alone together. She’s fairly sure Dean won’t hit him again after the conversation they’ve had. Then again, she’s made it clear that if he did, she would literally kick him out of her house.

Subdued by his mother's words and wishes, Dean does his best to not take more out on Cas than he already has. He wonders briefly whether she would have had more or less of an effect on him had she been around longer, but he quashes the idea as the sick tightening of his gut begins to grab hold. He doesn't object to being left with the former angel, but he's pretty sure Mary was close to telling him, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." So, he doesn't.

The silence between them stretches uncomfortably and Dean finds his focus shifting. Cas is _alive_ , but he still doesn’t have _his Cas_ back. This Cas…human and unknowing…is lacking important things.

He’s still most definitely Cas though, Dean realizes. The swelling exaggerates his frown into more of a pout than usual as he glares at the sandwich Dean had made him--at his mother’s insistence.

Dean laughs. He doesn’t _mean_ to, but it happens. He shakes his head, smiling, as Cas attempts to eat his (overstuffed, it was _Dean_ who made it, after all) sandwich without the filling spilling out. He takes a bite and grapples with it as everything squishes out.

"How you even _passed_ for human is beyond me," Dean says and Castiel's intense gaze in return only serves to further his point.

Cas is more interested than anything in the fact that Dean spoke to him--about something other than the ruination he'd apparently caused, even. "Perhaps she is less familiar with me than you are." There's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Something about that stops Dean, he leans in, voice lowering so Mary couldn't hear if she happened to be eavesdropping, "Do you know who she is? Who they are?"

Quiet for a moment, Castiel looks in the direction of John and Mary Winchester. It's only the gesture that matters as there are walls between them and it reminds Dean again of all the things Cas _could_ do. "Yes," Cas says and Dean waits for him to elaborate, to clarify. Cas doesn't, but he does look back at Dean expectantly, awaiting questions to further sate Dean's curiosity. He was missing most of the answers Dean needed, but he'd help where he could.

Dean sighs, "Don't know how I got here or how the hell I'm gonna get home since you've lost your mojo." He eyes Cas, idea forming. "Not that being human isn't _awesome_ ," the sarcasm may or may not be lost on the former angel, "but can you get it back?"

"I'm guessing this is another one of those times where my memories would be useful," Castiel replies drily. "Do you have something in mind?"

Dean rocks back in his chair, "Well, Anna's grace made an old tree or something," Dean wasn't good on the details of it, "would yours do the same?"

~

“So, they’re staying here?” John asks, his gaze settling on his wife in the mirror as he washes his hands.

Mary nods, wraps her arms around him, and smiles. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble. Probably easier than when we have kids running around the house.”

He returns her smile easily, a quirk to the side of his mouth, “But that’ll be different, Mary. Those will be ours.”

Her eyes tear up and John turns to her. She shoves her face into his chest, hiding for only a few seconds before she looks up at him. They kiss.

~

It takes them three more days at the Winchester house to hear anything of use. Dean is both surprised and relieved it didn't take longer without the internet at their fingertips.

His mom still has connections--ones she'd rather not use, but word of mouth could be a pretty powerful thing sometimes. It gets them the information they need--an asteroid had hit and there was news of a tree sprouting up overnight in a field a few towns over, amongst implications of ghosts and whatever the hell else Dean wasn’t going to fight. He wonders who would take responsibility and kill the things that went bump in the night when his family was too busy. There were other hunters out there, of course, but it was strange to not see his parents rise up as if it were their sworn duty to keep the populace at large safe. Dean tells Mary it’s exactly what they were looking for.

Dean loves his parents, loves seeing them happy and alive. Every second he’s around them brings the feeling of his heart breaking, but with everything that’s happened to him already, what’s more pain and anguish?

He gets along well with his dad, even if he has trouble keeping his own mouth shut. He's not sure what Mary must have told John as to why he and Cas were staying at the house, but his dad didn't question them too much. John would get this look on his face Dean knew on his father, like he really _wanted_ to say something... Then, he'd shake his head and change the subject.

What could his mom have possibly told him to keep his curiosity stifled like that? He had a feeling it had to do with the _relationship_ he and Cas shared. Which was disturbing on too many levels to count, the most important being that _his mom_ thought he and Cas were a couple.

He blames Cas and the way he always looks at him. He just didn't know what kinds of things would give humans the wrong idea, but he did...have a _way_ in which he talked, especially about Dean.

There was also a more definite reason he had his suspicions.

The second night, the back of his hand brushed Cas's and the former angel had a long conversation with Mary that Dean hadn't had the chance to "accidentally" overhear. The skin contact had been the catalyst though. Cas had stared at their hands for a long moment, emotions flickering over his face in rapid succession, then, disappearing only to come from his room with Mary a while later.

His mom looked at him differently after that.

~

_When Dean’s skin touches his, it’s like a current that travels lightning fast up his arm and back down his spine, nausea settling in the pit of his stomach. It comes back in a flood, beginning with their history and working its way out from there until it feels like his head is too full, ready to burst. The things he knew without ever having to learn as an angel are vague at best, but the rest is all too real--and too recent. Dean was working from a future in which the leviathans were already prominent while Castiel felt he had only unleashed them upon the world a few days prior._

_He reacts to it in the most human of ways; he feels sick. Bile rises in his throat, yet there’s no release, no relief. His stomach turns and his mouth sours. Yet, guilt is guilt--and it’s something he knows well._

_Dean had called down Death, to sic upon him. They had looked at him like he was a monster and now, with perspective on his side, he can see that was exactly what he had been. He had made a terrible decision and, without his knowledge, he had given in to the influences of purgatory, of the things his Father had so carefully locked up._

_The strike hadn’t done it, too filled with pent up rage, but that brief, accidental contact… It brought him back._

_Standing is dizzying, so he hides himself away in the bedroom they’ve allowed him to stay in. He sits on the bed, staring at his hands folded in his lap. Mary finds him soon after, looking at him questioningly. Her curiosity seems to have a habit of getting to her._

_She pulls a chair close and takes a seat, ready to hear whatever he needs to say._

_“I remember,” Cas tells her, clutching his hands together._

_Mary tilts her head, brushing her hair back, “Everything?”_

_He shakes his head, “Most of it.” He looks up at her, his expression heavy with guilt. “I did…terrible things.”_

_Her jaw tightens and she frowns, “I’m probably out of line here, but…” She had heard what Dean had said to him, she may not know what it all meant, but she does know it isn’t good. She lowers her voice to a whisper, “Why?”_

_Cas sighs, “I tried to make the right choices. I tried to protect Dean and his brother, to keep them out of it. When they sought to interfere in what I felt was the only way to defeat…the others, I hurt them. I won only to ruin everything else in the process.”_

_“The path to hell is paved with good intentions,” Mary murmurs._

_“It certainly is.”_

_Cas wants to confide everything in her, in someone who wouldn’t live long enough to pass it on, anyway. The thought saddens him._

_He knows he shouldn’t be telling her anything at all, but even if he does, he knows they’ll find her, wipe her and John’s memories of them. The Winchesters were chosen, after all. John and Mary were fated to be together, to have two sons who then grow up to be vessels. There was no way they’d be allowed knowledge of the angels, of the way his Father had been absent and his siblings had taken destiny into their own hands._

_John Winchester had told his oldest son--Dean had once drunkenly confided when Sam had said yes and their plan had initially failed--that he might have to kill his younger brother. He wonders if the John he’s met now has that knowledge, having once been Michael’s vessel what must have been only a month or so previous. Has John always known their destinies?_

~

John had driven them to the outskirts of the field and the tree they sought was visible in the distance.

“Good luck,” he tells them.

Dean and Castiel reply in turn with a “thanks” and a “thank you” as they pile out of the car. Mary didn't accompany them for the ride, but she had sent them with food, water, and some advice.

_“Help each other. From the sound of it, Dean, you’re not in any position to be picky about who’s on your side now.”_

Dean chose not to reply with a snarky comment about how everyone lived to stab each other in the back, biting it back only to leave his mother without the full brunt of his negativity--his _realistic_ views. All his friends were dead. Cas… Well, they’d have to figure some things out. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about the former angel right now. He found it hard to keep his other feelings in check when he was in such close contact with Cas. A certain camaraderie had begun resurfacing and he felt as if he should reject it, reject anything Cas had to offer that wasn’t what Dean asked of him. Dean deserved Castiel’s help here, he felt. They would get his grace back and stop the leviathans and that was it. Then, Cas could rot like he had for all Dean cared.

He wouldn’t admit that he didn’t want to lose Cas, not again. He also didn’t want to delude himself that he wouldn’t. What other outcome could there possibly be? It was better to pretend that was what he wanted, to hope it hurts less.

They trudge towards the tree in silence. As they walk, it seems farther than it looked.

“Feel anything?” Dean asks. He doesn’t so much as glance over, but he can see Cas in the corner of his eye.

Castiel focuses on Dean as he continues, “I’m not sure.”

There’s a struggle within him and he knows it’s different than before. He can’t be emotionless, can’t rein it in like he could when he was an angel. He guesses he will be again, although the idea is frightening. He feels guilt and regret and something else he doesn’t know the name of. He hurt so many people, killed scores of his brothers and sisters because they hadn’t taken his side, still wouldn’t choose him to lead when he’d taken away their options. He had caused pain and destruction and unleashed a more ancient evil on the world. Those should be the things he cares about, but those people and those things…they weren’t as important to him. He hadn’t vowed to protect them, to help them. He had hurt Sam and Dean.

Sam had done the right thing in trying to take him down when he did. The only reason he doesn’t wish for death now is that he thinks he can help.

He wants to tell him that he remembers, it's only how to go about it that has kept him from confessing it.

They make it nearly halfway there when Cas stumbles, tripping over a rock and scraping his face on the thick, dry weeds and the like they’ve been traipsing through for the past twenty minutes. He hesitates before getting up. It stings and his fear wants him to stay, as if waiting would get him out of this mess. When he pushes himself up, resisting the urge to try rotting into the ground, he realizes his hands must be damaged as well. He winces and an arm wraps around one of his, hoisting him up off of the ground.

It surprises him. It surprises _Dean_.

“You okay?” He brushes him off a bit and looks him over. His hand moves to his face, dirty and bleeding, but the bruising underneath is too clear and he swallows, looking away--towards what they hope holds the power Cas needs to get them both home. “Come on,” he says, before Cas answers and begins to walk. He gets only a few yards away when he realizes Cas isn’t following.

Cas is just standing there, staring at him, lips thinned and every muscle taut.

“What?” Dean asks gruffly. “Can we go?”

He begins to take a step forward, then stops, “I’m sorry, Dean. I know saying it changes nothing.”

“You’re--” Dean stops. He processes the words. He stomps back to where the former angel stands and grabs him by the lapels of his suit jacket--same damn one he’d always worn--and Castiel doesn’t flinch. “You _remember_?” he shouts, shaking him when no answer comes.

Castiel doesn’t speak, just gives the slightest nod of his head.

Dean stares at him in anger, in disbelief, and pushes him away. “You remember?” he says again. “What you did to us? To _Sam_? To the rest of the goddamn world?”

“Yes,” Cas whispers, his voice harsh. He can feel his cheek sting sharply as tears slide down his face. “But I--” he chokes on his words, “I want to help. I want to fix things. Whatever I can do for you, I will.”

“Damn right.” Dean nods, jaw clenching. His hand forms into a fist, but he keeps himself from striking him. “How does human guilt compare, Cas? Different?”

“Not as much as you’d think,” he replies, wiping a hand across his face and having it come back more bloody than anything else. “When I met you, Dean, after I pulled your soul from the pit, mended your body, and pulled you back together, I changed.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, bristling at the way in which Castiel spoke of his resurrection.

“I went against everything I was _supposed_ to be, did things I shouldn’t have even been _able_ to do,” he steadies his gaze with the hunter’s, “because of _you_ , Dean. I developed _feelings_ and I _tried_ to do what I thought was right. I wanted to protect you, and Sam. I didn’t want this.”

Dean doesn’t let the mask slip, the one saying he couldn’t care less about what Castiel was _trying_ to do because what he’d done had ruined everything. His green eyes meet Castiel’s blue ones, “So?”

Cas inhales a deep breath and sighs, “I just wanted you to know.”

Without another word, Dean turns back to the task at hand, walking steadily and not daring to look back at Castiel. Deep down, these were things he already knew. Cas had shown time and time again that he’d sacrifice himself to the cause--just like he and Sammy did, had done, whenever the world needed saving. Cas didn’t really do it for the world. Dean had seen him ready to annihilate a town on Heaven’s orders, to let the apocalypse commence without a fight.

He did it for Dean.

Dean could say that made him selfish, less heroic--not that _he_ should’ve been considered anyone’s hero either. Cas was still willing to help though, after they’d tried to kill him--at _least_ twice. That counts for something to Dean.

He decides, feeling as if it’s against his better judgement, to ease up on Castiel, enough to make things bearable between them. He shows this by turning, nodding his head at him. It’s a step for him, even if most wouldn’t understand it. “Anything now?” he asks, attempting to sound more easygoing and failing at it, earning him an odd look from Castiel--odd mostly in that he almost looked _happy_ or _relieved_ or more of that bullshit Dean pretends is optional for a normal existence.

“Yes,” he says. They’re not too far from it now, what appears to be a large blue ash tree. It’s beautiful, nothing in the field to detract from it. In fact, even the grasses around it appear healthier, greener, more lively than the rest they’ve walked through. A bird sits high up on its branches, too far off to identify, but it makes a noise as they approach, flitting off to seat itself a bit further up still. He can feel it, the way the air around it radiates, charged with the energy that once made up his being.

Even if it wasn’t what he was looking for, Dean would have been drawn to the tree. By now in his life, he knows when something is…different. This, however… It doesn’t frighten him. His hair stands on end and he’s filled with a certain excitement, the urge to approach, to climb, to rest with his back against it, like the type of child he never was, could never have been allowed to be. The tree draws him in and he can’t help the smile forming on his face.

“That’s it,” Cas murmurs, standing close to Dean beside the trunk, looking up into its leaves and branches. “That’s me, or what I was once, at least.” He wants to brush his hand against Dean’s again, to slide his fingers between Dean’s and hold onto him. It’s the silliest thought he’s ever had, one that he’s sure he wouldn’t have again, not when he was an angel. It’s the first time it occurs to him that what he feels for Dean might be what humans called love. He imagines a life in which he really was one of them, in which Dean could accept him, accept those feelings, perhaps even return them. He doesn’t know why he feels so heavy now, a tightness in his chest and that stinging in his eyes again, close to crying.

“Pretty impressive,” Dean says, then clears his throat. “The tree, I mean. Not…the, uh…” He trails off.

Castiel doesn’t know when he grabbed the end of Dean’s shirt sleeve, but it drags Dean’s focus from the tree. Their eyes meet. Moments seem to pass and Castiel can only cause himself more pain, imagining a world in which it didn’t even matter if Dean felt for him what he did for Dean, but that Dean could be happy. He imagines Sam and Dean living a life where their lives weren’t in constant peril, that the fates had left them alone and they were ignorant of the fact that heaven and hell and demons and ghosts and _monsters_ …and angels existed. The human imagination was beyond comprehension to Cas until now. It had been a couple of days and he’d only just discovered it, knowing he was soon to lose it again.

He hoped he wouldn’t remember it then, could go back to being unable to fathom it and the power it held.

“When I…” Cas pauses, searching for the words, “reunite with my grace, this vessel will be destroyed. The power is…difficult to control like this.” He flexes his hand, the one not still clutching at Dean’s shirt as if that would somehow save him. He adds, to give himself hope if nothing else, “It’s possible I can rebuild it, if I wanted.”

“It’d be weird if you…weren’t you anymore,” he gestures to Castiel’s body vaguely, but doesn’t disturb the grip Castiel has on him, doesn’t want to. He can see that Cas is scared. He had never thought about what it meant for Cas and, if not for his usefulness as an angel, he wishes now that he could give Cas the choice to stay human. A human Castiel, one he could prevent from becoming the drugged out shell of his former self he had seen in his trip to 2014… That would have been something worth seeing.

Cas nods, frowning, “It’s going to take some time for me to come back. Can you wait here for me?” It isn’t as if Dean has much of a choice, unless he decides to summon another creature as powerful as Castiel would be, but it would be too much of a risk. There are others he knows, who might have helped him in his day before they were cut down, but it would be hard to tell which side they were on thirty years in the past.

"Yeah," Dean tells him, nodding. His fingers accidentally brush against Castiel's wrist and Cas knows wishing for more is ridiculous--it's enough that Dean didn't pull away, especially with the multitude of reasons Castiel has given him, what he's done. Dean glances up, watching the light filter in through the trees. He enjoys its warmth, the way it grows as the distance between himself and the tree decreases. "I've got food and water. I'll be fine, Cas."

Cas forces himself to pull away from Dean, to let the fabric slip out from between his fingers. Birds screech and fly away from them. "Look away," he warns him, orders him. Dean's eyes catch his and Cas gives him a shove because his hand is already resting on the bark. It's starting. It's too much, like being overwhelmed, but he can't get away from it now, even if he tries. He can feel his body burning away, the seconds he knows it takes turning into hours for him as flesh and bone disintegrate, stripping away to nothingness as his consciousness becomes one with his grace once more.

Dean shuts his eyes tight, but he can still see the burst of energy and light as they flash. When the scene melts to darkness--more accurately the absence of that blinding brightness that had temporarily overtaken the world around him--he opens them to slits, realizing his arms are clutched over his face. There's an echo of a scream in his mind, filled with pain and too loud to comprehend until it was over. He blinks, allowing his arms to drop a little, eyes widening and mouth open as he looks to where Castiel had stood.

"Cas?" he hazards, sight beginning to refocus, to see the daylight coming down through the tree again. The ash tree doesn't feel as it had before, only the residual effects of Castiel's grace left in and around it. Everything seems a shade duller, down to the grasses at his feet. They're still greener than the surrounding field, he notices, as he looks around, hoping to find a glimpse of Cas already returning. "Cas!" he calls, more desperately than he'd have liked, voice breaking as he searches the skies.

The clouds tell him nothing and he collapses to the ground. He can wait. Running his fingers over the bark, Dean wonders if it will always hold something otherworldly about it. Then, he wonders if something of _Cas_ still lies within it, if they’ll always be connected somehow.

When he thinks for too long, he begins to rationalize his behavior, and Castiel’s. He wants to be lenient, to accept him if Cas is willing to risk everything all over again. He created their current predicament trying to solve the last one and that was something Dean was more than familiar with. Had he and Sam not done the same time and time again? Hell, even the way they gave their lives for each other only prolonged their suffering. Sam had worked in secret with Ruby thinking he was going to destroy the greatest evil in the world only to find he had started the apocalypse, freeing Lucifer from his cage. The leviathans, however, were much more clever than an army of demons had been. Castiel himself had wrought a great deal of suffering on the world--after Dean had told him he was on his own, that he would stop him.

Castiel had been Dean’s ally--his _friend_. They’d need his help--all the help they could get, really--in the coming storm. He could use it as a chance to redeem himself, as much as he could with all that had happened, and Dean found himself more than willing to let him. If he were honest with himself, he could admit he’d had worse allies over the years.

Dean rests his back against the tree, one knee crooked. The bag his mother had given him lays beside him. It was strange to think she and John were out there right now, living their lives, pretending--no, not _pretending_ , not yet--to have a normal life together. His dad would never know of Mary’s past, how he had dragged his kids into a world she had tried so hard to get out of. She had already made a deal for his life that Dean knew ended with her death, beginning the cycle their family had inexplicably been unable to stop. They couldn’t sit back and watch someone die, not if there was _anything_ they could do about it.

He pulls out one of the sandwiches Mary had made and eats it despite the fact that he’s not actually hungry. He looks at his shirtsleeve, where the fabric is pinched from Castiel’s fingers. He hears the scream again in his mind and winces. Had Cas wanted to hold onto him because he knew exactly how painful it would be?

_“…This vessel will be destroyed.”_

He was human though, this Cas. The body was his and his alone, it seemed. The skin bruised and bled like the mortal he was, so he must’ve felt it--every sinew being ripped apart to link him back to his grace. Dean hates the image in his mind, remembering the sadness in Castiel’s eyes, the fear.

Dean gets up, stretches, pretends to be distracted until it begins to actually work. He circles the tree, for some reason imagining Cas on the other side but finding it empty when he gets back there. He and Cas used to be so close, back before…

He knows Cas wouldn’t have left Sammy’s soul in the pit on purpose, that he didn’t know what he’d brought back was only a shell of Dean’s brother. He was only trying to help, not that Dean gave much credit to intentions, but he had forgiven Sam…and wasn’t Cas like family once?

There’s a rustle in the leaves and Dean’s eyes dart from the sky to ground around him. Nothing yet, just the wind. He’s been there a while, longer than he thought, as the sun starts to set, orange glow filling the sky. “Come on, Cas,” he murmurs. “You gotta come back.”

The edge of panic sets in as it gets darker and Dean sits by the tree again. “You can’t leave me here, you son of a bitch!” he shouts into the distance, not expecting an answer. He crosses his arms, lets out a plaintive, “Please.” He shakes his legs, trying to get rid of his nerves. Cas will be back. Nothing went wrong.

He starts thinking the worst. What if Cas had been captured by the other angels? What if he _couldn’t_ come back? What if he had changed his mind and didn’t _want_ to?

His eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, the moonlight too weak to be of much help. It didn’t matter how much time he’d spent in the dark over his lifetime, he was still only human. “Cas, you, uh-- you okay?”

About a minute later, he hears it. The sound of wingbeats fills the air and in that split second, Dean feels relief. His body tenses when he doesn’t immediately lay eyes on the angel and he calls for him again, tentatively, “Cas?”

A hand reaches out for him and he follows the length of the arm up to a familiar face. He grabs Castiel’s hand and allows himself to be pulled up. He dusts off his clothes, failing to make eye contact with the angel. “You’re…you,” he says lamely. There’s a swelling in his chest telling him exactly how he feels to have Cas with him again, alive and close by.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “It took some time, I apologize.” He was weak already, having had to fight the odds to recreate this vessel. He didn’t do it just for himself, he had his grace back and that kind of attachment was irrational. It was what Dean expected him to look like, what Dean thought of as “him.” Not that he had really had a sex to begin with, but he guessed he had adopted one over time, because of that body, because of Dean,

“It’s fine,” Dean tells him, looking into a face sterner than he remembers, but the damages are gone.

“Are you ready?” Cas asks, stepping closer, further into Dean’s personal space.

Dean grabs the bag and nods, closing his eyes as Castiel’s hand reaches out. Cas presses two fingers to his forehead and Dean feels the ground shifting, harder and more even underneath his feet. He feels the fingers drop and opens his eyes to find himself in a hotel room.

Castiel sways, “Sam will be back soon.”

The hunter nods and takes in the room. Same one he’d been sleeping in before finding himself in Lawrence. “Never figured out how I got there in the first place,” Dean complains.

Castiel's attention focuses squarely on Dean, eyes once again filled with that indescribable otherworldliness behind them the hunter could never truly define. He tilts his head ever so slightly, “I called for you and...you came to find me.” He chokes, staggering back, his knees hitting the edge of the bed and spitting blood.

Dean rushes to the angel’s side, helping to ease him down onto the thin bedspread. “Hold on,” he mutters and runs to the door. He glances through the window before throwing it open, seeing Sam turn into the parking lot in the car he hates and waits there for the thirty seconds it takes him to park in front of the room.

“Where were you, Dean?” Sam demands as he gets out of the car, resisting the urge to pull his older brother into a hug. He looks him over but Dean brushes him off.

“I’m fine, Sammy. Can you pop the trunk?” He heads over to the back of the car and knocks on it for emphasis.

Brows drawn together in confusion, Sam nods, “Yeah, sure.” He continues to give his brother a strange look as he does so, wandering back to flip the switch under the driver’s seat. “What is it?”

When Dean sees it, he stares for a moment. The way it’s creased and familiar. He remembers clutching it to himself that first night Cas was gone and making excuses to himself, readied for anyone else who might ask, that it was only because he couldn’t decided whether or not to keep it. Of course he would, though. There was never any real question of it. The trench coat was iconic of Cas, too much a part of him in Dean’s mind to be shredded like every other memory had been. He wishes that he had kept more of the people he’d lost, but it had been too hard then, to see reminders of his failures in every icon and every photograph. When that trench coat had washed up to him, it had seemed like a sign and he couldn’t resist reaching into the water, taking it, no matter what it might have caused Sam and Bobby to think. It was important.

He grabs it, feels the thick fabric on his fingertips again, and slams the trunk closed.

Sam looks at him questioningly, “Dean? What are you…” He trails off as Dean walks past him into the hotel room.

Dean crouches beside the bed, at eye level with Cas, who seemed to be phasing in and out of consciousness. He holds the bundled coat up to him, “I thought you might want this back.”

Cas acknowledges it, giving a slight nod, before his eyelids flicker and he’s out again.

Dean covers him with it like a blanket, basking in the sentimentality of it only as long as he performs the act. Cas had always been overly attached to that trench coat. It feels right to give it back to him, to complete the image he held in his mind.

Sam stands in the doorway, door still swung open. His mouth opens and closes, taking in the shock of seeing Castiel there. “Dean,” he whispers furtively, as if Cas is in any state to wake up again anytime soon, and shuts the door. “What _the hell_ happened?” He glances between his brother and the angel, trying to process as much as he can before Dean speaks.

“I’ve got a story for you, don’t worry,” Dean tells him, taking a swig from his flask and belatedly realizing how much less he’d been drinking over the past couple of days. “How long was I gone?”

~

Dean explains what happened, leaving out certain details. Sam doesn’t need to know about his feelings or how hard it was to see their parents again. He does, however, give Sam the other sandwich Mary had packed for him and Cas, only to see Sam tearing up. “Hey,” he says, “Don’t get emotional over a damn peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

Sam swallows, nodding, but Dean can still see him staring at the bread reverently. They’re both quiet for a moment besides the huffing sigh Dean lets out. Sam glances over from the table to the bed where Cas lies, unaware of the world. “He was human? Like… _human_ human?” Sam asks, knowing the answer.

Dean clears his throat, ignoring the emotions that bubble up inside of him, “Yeah. He was.”

~

_Cas dips his feet in the water, watching Dean move towards him._

_“Hey,” Dean calls, treading water. “You gotta learn to swim sometime, Cas. It’s unacceptable you didn’t already know.” He’s smiling, teasing him. He gets close enough to wrap his arms around Castiel’s legs._

_“I never had reason to,” Cas tells him, looking down._

_Dean makes a noncommittal noise, “You weren’t a very curious kid, were you?” He laughs._

_“I wasn’t…” He stops. What had he meant to say? He almost said he wasn’t human. He shakes his head, “I guess not.”_

_“We’re gonna have to fix that,” Dean says. “Next time, we’ll bring Sammy out here with us. I bet he’d be able to teach you. He always had more patience than I did, and, you? You’d be a lost cause.”_

_Dean tilts his head up, pulling himself partially out of the water through use of Castiel’s legs. Cas leans down, kissing him._

_They smile at each other, but the world begins to dim. The water goes black and Castiel feels panic rise, recoiling as Dean disappears and the sky breaks apart._

_It was just a remnant, a leftover piece of his brief stint with humanity. He doesn’t stir when it ends, doesn’t remember it happening. His body--his vessel--continues to lie on the bed, but his fingers grip the edge of the trench coat, feeling a phantom hand covering his own._

_“Shhh,” Dean whispers. “It’s too early to be up. I, for one, can’t stand going without my beauty sleep.” He wraps his arm around Castiel and kisses the back of his neck, falling back into unconsciousness._

~

Sam and Dean play a game of cards and Sam tells Dean he only disappeared for about a day.

“And you didn’t go out there searching, Sam?” Dean teases, gesturing to the room.

“I kinda…” Sam sighs, smirking, “You don’t remember anything?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I remember a lot of things. What?” he asks gruffly.

“I think you said something to me last night before you…went time-traveling.” He leans back, palms on the table, and looks around, “I think you told me you needed to find someone, that you needed to go. I wanted to go with you, but…I thought it was a dream when I first woke up after that. You were gone. I thought I must’ve gone back to sleep.”

“Huh.” Dean quirks his mouth, “Guess I don’t remember it. Cas kinda said the same thing.”

Sam stands up, cautioning a quick, calculating glance at his and deciding not to press. “Want another beer?” he asks, grabbing the empty bottle Dean had been playing with.

“Sure,” the older Winchester replies automatically. He came when Cas called to him, through time and space. That was some weird sci-fi shit there. It also said something he hadn’t examined too closely about his relationship with Cas. The fact that his subconscious mind replied to a request like that with what seemed to be an enthusiastic “yes” reminded Dean of the dreams he’d had. The nightmares of what had happened since Cas had swallowed up all those souls, of Cas walking into the water. There had been more, of course, about Amy and Bobby and all the other lives he felt responsible for ending, but Cas…was _here_.

“Why did you go _there_ anyway?” Sam sits down across from him again, sliding a beer along the tabletop until it rests next to Dean’s fingers.

Shrugging, Dean removes the bottle cap and takes a long swig, “I don’t know.”

Sam nods and looks back to the beds, “Where are you gonna sleep tonight?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, grinning. “He’s on _your_ bed.”

Sam glares at him. “No, Dean. That,” he points to Cas, “is your responsibility tonight. I’m taking the bed not covered in unconscious angel of the lord.”

~

Despite the half-assed fight Dean puts up for what was _his_ bed--for the nights they stayed here, at least--he resigns himself to finding somewhere else to sleep.

Sam has no qualms falling asleep while Dean continues to do this. The lights are off and Dean searches the room for a couch, to no avail. He is _not_ sleeping on the floor. He doesn’t like drawing attention to the fact that he’s over thirty, but it does mean he’s too old to put his back in that amount of discomfort and be ready to hunt the next day--not that it would actually _stop_ him.

His eyes keep wandering to the bed. Unlike Sam with his giant limbs, taking up practically every inch of space on his bed, Cas has kept to the side of the bed Dean had helped him onto, leaving half of it unoccupied. Nothing is happening, _will_ happen, he assures himself, but still he hesitates.

Cas isn’t even under the covers. There would be layers between them. Dean strips down to a t-shirt and boxers and climbs in.

Cas doesn’t so much as shift.

~

_Dean climbs, but the branches break away as he reaches further up. He can’t stop now, wouldn’t have anywhere to turn, but there’s something up ahead, bright and warm. He needs to reach it, to be pulled into its energy and bask in it._

~

Dean wakes up to find Castiel facing him, eyes open. He’s wearing the trench coat properly now and Dean just stares at him for a moment. He can hear the soft sounds of Sam snoring from the other bed and figures he hasn’t been caught--doing _what_ , he doesn’t know.

He rubs at his eyes, breaking eye contact. “Thanks,” he murmurs, “for yesterday.”

Castiel sits up on the edge of the bed, “I brought you there. It was only right for me to bring you back, if I could.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Right. I forgot how much that time travel mojo messed with you.”

“No more painful than becoming…me again,” he hesitates over the words. The way he felt as a human seems to grow more distant with each passing second. He can still feel the infatuation he had for Dean--because it’s not _love_. He’s not human enough to think that it is, nor does he have the imagination to delude himself into believing Dean could ever feel something for him. He wasn’t even _human_ \--and he shouldn’t have wanted it anyway, or so he reminds himself when there’s a brief discomfort in his chest, tight and almost out of place considering that he’s only inhabiting the body.

Dean swallows, and says something he reserves mostly for Sam, and, even then, rarely, “Do you want to talk about it?” It’s such a chick-flick moment he wants to mock himself, but instead he stares at Castiel, waits. He saw how Cas had hesitated, that he didn’t really _want_ to take back his grace for a minute there. He doesn’t know whether things would be easier or harder if Cas could’ve stayed that way.

Cas shakes his head, “It’s just…there still. I’ll forget it.”

“Do you want to?” Dean asks, sitting up. Castiel’s eyes flicker from his own down to his lips. There’s something there that’s gone unsaid.

~

_Mary prods Cas a little more, “He seems like a dick, but…do you like him?”_

_“Of course,” Castiel tells her. “Dean and his brother, they were like family to me once.”_

_She rolls her eyes, “That’s not what I meant.” She smiles, “Although I think I already know the answer. There’s no accounting for taste.” Mary places a hand on his knee, inexplicably concerned for him, expression turning more serious, “Is there anything you can do now? To fix things?”_

_“I’d do anything to redeem myself to him,” Cas says. After a second, he adds, softer, “If he’ll let me.”_

_She looks at him sadly for a moment, “I think he wants to forgive you, even if he doesn’t show it. He seems like he could use someone.” She shakes her head, “No…like he **needs** someone.”_

_Cas looks at her and she can see hope war with disbelief in his features, like he wouldn’t know how to hide it if he wanted to. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s enough._

_Mary wishes there was more she could do for him, to tell Dean not everyone was trying to hurt him like he thought. She knew he had his reasons, could see it, had heard what he had said about Castiel, but…it was obvious he couldn’t go on like that. Castiel’s intentions now appeared nothing but pure, ready to make amends. It was something she could appreciate seeing._

~

On instinct, Dean’s hand reaches up, close to Castiel’s jaw. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but whatever it was could be blamed on his only recent consciousness. He leans in, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s screaming about what he thinks he’s doing. He’s not thinking, and that’s it. His lips are close enough to Castiel’s that a breath could brush them together.

He hears Sam grumble and his brain kicks in full force. He pushes himself off the bed and runs a hand over his mussed hair, “You want coffee, Sammy?” He walks to the bathroom sink and splashes water over his face, hoping it will keep his unfortunate blush at bay.

Sam grunts as he stretches in the bed. He processes the question, “Yeah. There’s a Starbucks across the street. You gonna go?”

“I’m not paying five dollars for a cup of coffee, Sam. Just because I went away for a couple of days doesn’t mean I don’t remember this conversation from…yesterday. Uh…” He scrunches up his face, knowing how strange that came out.

Cas stands against the wall, staring after Dean.

Dean glances back and catches his eye, inhaling a sharp breath, “Okay. Fine. I’ll go. But I’m calling dibs on the first shower. You can waste a hundred gallons of water on your giant body while I’m gone.”

Sam grins triumphantly, he blinks his bleary eyes, “You bringing Cas?”

Dean pauses, “Maybe.” He doesn’t want to tell Sam that he needs to be alone, to tell him why. He was just around Cas so much, that must’ve been it.

~

During his shower, Dean thinks over what he had almost done. He rolls his eyes at himself. What the hell had he been doing? He had nearly _kissed_ Cas. He can laugh now about how ridiculous it was. It probably had something to do with the way Cas had looked at him, how close he was, the way he had looked at his lips. When Cas had been human, gripping his shirtsleeve, afraid to take in his grace because he knew what it would do to him, Dean had wanted to comfort him in whatever way he could. Now, that they had almost kissed…

He stops there. That was a whole new realm of weird he’d be getting into. Then again, his mom had some reason to--

Dean scrubs at his body, closing his eyes and singing Led Zeppelin songs to himself.

Maybe that was what was messing with him. It was hard to explain that you couldn’t help having a hard to define relationship with the angel who pulled you out of hell.

~

_John takes the wrench from Dean, a nod of gratitude. “Who taught you about cars?” he asks._

_Dean bites his tongue and doesn’t say, “You did,” instead grunting and picking up the tool chest, setting it on the hood of the car. He clears his throat, “My dad. He used to work on them, back in the day.”_

_John glances sidelong at him, “Were you two close?”_

_“Yeah,” Dean says. “After my mom died, he and my little brother, they were all I had. Now it’s just me and…my brother.” Neither he nor Cas ever mention Sam’s name in order not to send up red flags in his parents’ heads. It’s better that way, if more complicated._

_John looks at the window, where Cas helps Mary clear the table, “What about him? Isn’t he--” He moves shiftily, “He is, or was, at least, close to you.” His words come out stuttered and uneven. It’s none of John’s business what these two men are to each other. From the sound of it, they were soldiers, the kind that had gone into a war together. That kind of bond was hard to break, even harder to build though. He was a marine, he’d had plenty of friends, but Dean and Cas were different._

_Dean makes a noncommittal noise, “Well, we’ll see.”_

_Taking that as his cue to drop the conversation, John does, nodding and asking for Dean to retrieve something for him, just to break the silence._

~

They leave town that night. They’ve got enough information on the leviathans to know they’re not ready yet.

The days go on as they always did, moving from city to city and killing things as they could.

Each day, Cas thinks it’ll all be gone, but the want remains. A thought will flicker through his mind, unbidden.

_Maybe if you fix this, you can stay. Maybe he’ll want to be with you. Don’t leave his side._

He doesn’t understand the point of it all. He tries to keep it out. They aren’t the thoughts of a being like him, but rather those of a mortal coveting someone just beyond their reach.

_How is that any different?_ his mind will ask sometimes.

He watches Dean the same way he used to, or thinks he does. It doesn’t feel the same, but maybe it’s because he has been examining those feelings too hard. He stands what he realizes is too close, but Dean doesn’t say anything. It must be what’s normal for them.

Most of the time, he can forget. He focuses on the task at hand, on destroying what he helped bring into this world. He protects the Winchesters from any harm that may befall them--anything he can _prevent_. As long as there’s a monster lunging for their throats, Cas doesn’t need to think, he can work on instinct--distract himself from the knowledge that even his instinct is biased.

Dean looks at him when they’re alone and he asks, “Do you still remember?”

It’s a question Castiel doesn’t know how to feel about, but he doesn’t lie to Dean, doesn’t want to, not after the horrors that befell him when he did, replying, “Somewhat.”

If Dean presses further, he doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to. He knows Dean doesn’t want to hear, “I remember being in love with you.”

~

Sam is quiet when Dean leaves, like he doesn’t know what to say to Cas--or, more likely, he doesn’t want to say anything to him.

Cas doesn’t know if an apology will help. He tries a few times, but each is met with silence. He’s vaguely aware of Sam having stabbed him in the back, but he doesn’t hold it against him. He had been out of control and if Sam _had_ killed him then, the leviathans would have likely been wiped away with him.

It was also another strange reminder that God was on his side. His Father wanted him alive.

It could’ve been because Cas alone--the souls of purgatory not included--could have done what his brothers and sisters had failed to: tear the world to pieces, humanity with it.

~

The black goo is still spurting from the neck of the leviathan, Castiel having sliced with precision. The head rolls on the floor next to Dean, who pushes himself up. Castiel offers him a hand and Dean takes it.

It feels like something close to trust.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbles, clearly uncomfortable in saying so. He doesn’t want Dean to go back to that dark place he’d been in for so long there. Cas and Bobby both gone had left Dean almost heartless; it was only after Castiel’s return that Dean seemed human again himself. Sam likes it better this way, even if he still has issues with the angel.

He knows better than anyone that sometimes you make terrible decisions, and it takes some support--a _chance_ , really--to make up for your mistakes. Hadn’t he caused nearly the same amount of death and destruction Cas had?

Dean and Castiel’s hands linger together a second longer than necessary and Sam looks away so Dean won’t feel the need to get defensive. Cas was Dean’s best friend for a long time. It didn’t matter if Dean would admit to it or not. He doesn’t mention that to Dean, only that he thinks Dean shouldn’t change his mind on Castiel based on Sam’s own misgivings.

Sam grabs the head before it can attempt its way back to the body.

~

Dean still gets angry at him, usually over the leviathans, but occasionally it's his apathy. The thing is, Cas has been doing his best to fake it, to disguise the amount he _feels_ lately.

He's still slowly losing that humanity he'd had. He thought it would be gone already, instantly. He thought he could forget how to feel like that, to imagine. So much of it had left him when he placed his hand on the bark of that ash tree, but his proximity to Sam and Dean made him falter. He hadn't realized how much of that was already a part of him after so much time on the earth, with the poor, unfortunate souls who had chosen Team Free Will in the now averted apocalypse.

The apocalypse... It hadn't come to fruition. Raphael was dead. Most of his brothers and sisters were dead. God was still nowhere to be found.

This was no apocalypse. After all, the leviathans weren't _actively_ trying to destroy the earth, despite the amount of carnage they wouldn’t mind ignoring in their takeover. They wanted to consume it, using it as their feeding grounds as they proved themselves superior-- _higher on the food chain_ \--than humankind.

Castiel doesn't know if he still wishes to be one of them, human. He probably would if he didn't think it would make him feel so powerless now, so unable to protect, to _help_. Even if he did manage to fall again, what would prevent him from fucking up as terribly as he had before? Last time, it hadn't been much of a choice, but a course for survival.

That Dean had come to him... _For_ him. It didn't help him in getting rid of that intense whatever it was he felt for Dean. Neither did Dean treating him as a friend again, even if Sam was still somewhat wary of him. He would've expected that to affect what Dean thought of him, that he'd hate him if his brother couldn't even pretend to trust him, and yet things are going well between them.

He can't explain why Dean would have come for him, would've let himself be pulled by his grace and flung into a place so filled with heartache for him. What waited for him in Lawrence was only the feeling that he’d lost everything, of lives he couldn’t save, of family being ripped away from him over and over again. How John and Mary Winchester found Cas was simply an added bonus, but maybe he’d done it on purpose. If Cas was falling, he would want a Winchester to find him, although he doubts Sam and Dean’s parents were his intent.

Ending up in Kansas, _thirty years ago_ , didn’t seem like an idea that came from someone with much ability to think sense.

But Dean was there.

~

Dean looks at Cas hard, setting his useless gun on the table. "You ready for this?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, doesn’t care because he’s stepping forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Dean’s. It’s just a simple, chaste kiss. It’s not like the ones he can remember imagining, it’s _real_. He’s done it now and he can’t take it back, doesn’t want to. He doesn’t give Dean the chance to reciprocate. He pulls back immediately, “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes are wide and he stares at Castiel, fingers coming up to feel his lips. He can feel the ghost of contact on them, telling him it wasn’t his imagination. “What was-- _What_?” he finally asks, shocked.

Cas looks sheepish, meek almost for a second before his confidence rises and he manages to let his unearthly blue eyes meet the green of the hunter’s. “You came for me,” he says. It’s not everything, it doesn’t give away the feelings he constantly struggles with, the _real_ reason he did it, but it is the catalyst for all that has happened, brought them back together.

Dean blinks at him, checking the door, knowing Sam could be back any minute--or in a couple of hours. “Yeah,” he says, and finally allows his hand to come up to Castiel’s jaw, to tip his head up perfectly to meet Dean’s. “You know what, Cas?” he whispers harshly, barely controlling the urge to _take_. There’s no need for an answer, he kisses him, lips soft, giving under the pressure of his own, intensifying. Dean slides his tongue along Castiel’s bottom lip and the angel opens his mouth eagerly, ready to explore whatever he could with Dean. Their tongues slide against each other, teeth clacking once or twice in their haste. 

Castiel grips Dean’s arms, careful not to bruise them or break them. He doesn’t want it to end.

Dean’s hand slides from the angel’s jaw to the nape of his neck, angling him to sync up even more completely with their kiss. His other slips beneath the trench coat, settling on Castiel’s side. He stops the kiss a moment later, a bit breathless, “Coulda had better timing.”

“I thought this would give you the perfect opportunity to give me your ‘last night on earth’ speech,” Castiel retorts, a flush creeping up his cheeks, heating his skin all over.

Dean balks, “How do you even _know_ \--” He rethinks that question. Cas has probably seen him do it a dozen times, with just as numerous women. There are variations, of course, for those that aren’t in the know, but it’s easy enough to make up some kind of excuse, easy to turn on the charm for a night and reap its rewards. He distances his face enough for their eyes to focus on one another’s. Cas looks different than Dean has ever seen him, more human again. He realizes that it’s because that is exactly what Cas is allowing himself to be--soft, pliable, open to suggestion. He smirks, but the want in him turns it into something more dangerous, more heated, “What do you say, Cas? Last night on earth. You, me, certain death?”

Castiel nods. He has let himself forget not his _human_ feelings now, but the angel. He can pretend to be human, to feel those things, to allow them to be alright…because he wants this more than he thought possible. Dean might not be in love with him, but Cas doesn’t need to think about that either. In fact, he could pretend Dean felt the same. It was possible it would be their last night on earth--or it could be the beginning of something else. They could win and he could give up his grace, rip it out of himself all over again and hope to live out his days with Dean. It was amazing how such a silly notion could be so all-encompassing to something like him, caught in this moment.

They’re kissing again and it’s sloppy as Dean pushes off his trench coat, the layers underneath it, pressing his hands to the hot flesh he finds there. It’s different than all the women he’s been with, to touch hard muscle and flat pectorals. His fingers slide over the smooth skin and he can remember carving into it, the razor slicing too easily as he refused to look the angel in the eye. The sigil worked and Cas could’ve been dead, but better that than to have to watch Dean fail.

That had struck something in him, that Castiel thought he had given up, yet he still thrust his life into Dean’s hands, that he’d still work for their cause.

He mouths down Castiel’s neck, hands making quick work of his belt and fly. He doesn’t let himself freak out over it, think too hard about it. Cas started it and Dean would end it--and all of the meanings that could imply. His hand slips beneath the fabric of Castiel’s slacks, surprised in the best of ways to find Cas hard beneath that last flimsy layer of boxers. He groans, biting into Castiel’s shoulder as the angel makes little mewls and gasps Dean wouldn’t have imagined coming from him in his wildest fantasy. He palms Castiel’s cock through the boxers before sliding them down his hips with everything else.

Cas is trying to take off Dean’s clothes, but he’s only gotten him down to a t-shirt and boxers when the hunter has him naked.

Dean presses him to the wall, breathing hot against his neck, “What do you want me to do?” It isn’t fair the way he asks the question, his hips creating a friction between their cocks, easy to feel the heat past his boxers. He rocks them again and Cas moans, clutching at Dean’s shoulders.

“Fuck me,” Cas says, voice rougher, desperate. As an afterthought, he adds, “If you want.” He watches the expression on Dean’s face, their erections still pressed together. He reaches down and begins to push until it’s skin against skin. He moves, slipping his hand between them to grip and--

“Ahhh,” Dean groans, smiling. “I do-- want this,” he stutters. “Wouldn’t let myself for a long time, but…” The hunter had tried not to allow himself those feelings about Cas. Cas wasn’t human, Cas was working for the other side, Cas had betrayed him, Cas had _done everything for him_ \--that, that was too much. Under the surface, it’s all there, coming forward to meet him with his actions, chastising him for every missed opportunity.

Cas lets his forehead fall against Dean’s shoulder, “Do it, Dean. _Please_. I want you to. Just…” His voice drops down to a whisper, serious and forlorn, “Love you.” When he says it now, he knows it’s true. It’s not a lie he’d told himself when he was scared of all that he was losing, but real emotion. He had loved Dean for longer than he had even known he was on Dean’s side. There was something about him that had fundamentally changed Castiel from a being loyal to his Father and his superiors, to being loyal to Dean, to believing in a cause he was supposed to fight against.

He wasn’t going to say it, didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, but Dean’s cock moving along the length of his own was distracting. He had already decided that thinking clearly was not his idea for the night, it would never lead to resolution for the warring ideologies in his head. He could embrace this, embrace losing himself to humanity, at least long enough to find out what it could be like.

Dean stops, shaking a little, before he pulls away completely. “Get on the bed,” he says, and it sounds like there’s something he can’t quite keep down, a surge of emotion that chokes him. He grabs the lube from his bag, strips his t-shirt off, and settles between Castiel’s thighs. “It’s gonna hurt,” he says, but he doesn’t hesitate, slicking his fingers and pushing one in.

“I don’t care,” Castiel tells him, and means it. He’s lost in the world of human sensation, almost as if he has the power to simply will away all of his angelic bullshit and be like he was, like Dean has always been. He writhes as Dean stretches him. It’s strange, but he’s too intent, too caught up in his desire, to feel anything but pleasure and adrenaline. “ _Dean_ ,” he says, like it’s the most important word he knows--and it is. “Dean, _please_. Want you,” _however I can have you_ , his mind supplies, but with another whimper, he feels Dean pull his hand away.

Dean lines himself up, hoping he’s done enough to alleviate the tension, that he isn’t going to hurt him. Dean may be intimately familiar with violence, but he’s no sadist. He pushes Castiel’s knees up and apart and the angel watches him with heavy-lidded eyes as he slides into him. It’s tight, tighter than anything he’s ever felt.

Castiel’s eyes go wide before it’s too much and his head lolls back. His hips, however, have no qualms responding to Dean, sinking his body down to meet the hunter’s.

Dean wants him to look at him, to assure him he hasn’t done something wrong. He shifts and Castiel groans. “What do you want me to do?” he says again, body hovering over Castiel’s as if he might break him.

Castiel lifts his head, purposefully thrusting back against Dean’s cock. “Fuck me, Dean.”

Dean lets out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s chest, stuttering over his collarbone, and begins to move. He slides himself out only to pound in, harder, and Castiel responds to it so well, he does it again. They move together like they were meant to and, when he angles himself just a little bit more, he makes Cas _keen_.

“Do that again,” Castiel tries to order, but it’s too breathy, too wild.

Dean does, and Castiel’s fingers dig into his arms, scrabble until they find his back, clutch him. “Touch yourself,” Dean tells him, knowing he’s not going to last long, not with this wreck of angel beneath him. He kisses him, long and slow, while he pushes in again, beginning to find that he knows what he’s doing.

Cas trembles, but slides his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking with Dean’s rhythm. “M-more,” he says, mumbling into Dean’s mouth. It’s no longer even a kiss, he doesn’t have enough control for that. 

Dean knows that it will ruin him as quickly as it does Castiel, but he complies, “This what you want?” He moves faster, sliding in deep only to pull out. Each time he slams his cock back in, Castiel lets out a sound like a sob. He knows he’s making noises, too--he must be--but they’re nothing compared to the way Cas is moaning and gasping and whimpering and keening and crying out. He’s too close, he can’t stop now, can’t slow. Castiel’s hand brushes against his stomach with each pull, tensing and falling into a staccato rhythm until his eyes shut tight and he chants Dean’s name, burying his face into Dean’s throat.

Dean feels it, the hot, slick mess that shoots onto his stomach, the way Castiel’s whole body spasms, clenching and unclenching and, “Oh, _fuck_.” His hips move of their own accord, pumping into Cas through his orgasm, filling him up in that filthy, too intimate way he never thought he would.

He lays down beside him. His actions only now hit his rational brain. Not only did _he_ fuck _Cas_ , but…Cas had never done that before. Their adventure to relieve him of his virginity previously had led to some very drunken, very shameful fantasies for Dean of helping out a friend, but this was not the way any of them had gone.

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs.

Dean’s brows furrow and he looks over at Cas, an expanse of skin greeting him. He wonders if it’s still okay to touch. “For what?” he says, his hands wander over carefully, resting on Castiel’s stomach. He can feel him breathing heavily, feel it taper off to something slower, shallower.

Cas stares up at the ceiling, past it, to the sky and the ocean of stars above them. He shifts, his hand moving to cover Dean’s, whose thumb latches around it, rubbing small circles into the skin. He looks at their hands and smiles sadly, “For letting me forget.” _For letting me pretend._

Angels didn’t have free will, didn’t understand it. They couldn’t just suddenly stop following orders. Sure, there were those that did, that snapped and disappeared from the eyes of Heaven--like Gabriel and Balthazar--but that wasn’t what happened. Anna had tried only to be hunted, tortured, twisted until she could follow the will of Heaven like she was meant to. Castiel shouldn’t be able to decide he wants to do this and have it just…happen. He should have to choose to cut all ties, to rip out his grace. He hadn’t started out the most powerful of angels, but now he was one of the few remaining. Was there more leniency now, without the heavenly host in order?

“Forget what?” Dean murmurs. He’s tired. He’s always tired, but it never stops him anymore, when the weight of the world is such a constant.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas tells him. “But, I mean it, Dean, thank you.” He wonders if he can stop again, actually become the unfeeling being he had once had the potential to be after what’s happened.

“No,” Dean says, feeling more alert. “I want to know. I did just take your virginity, I figure that gives me the right to ask questions.” His fingers curl into Castiel’s and he turns to face him, uncaring of the mess.

Cas sighs, but he doesn’t want to keep Dean from what he has asked to know, “You saw me when I was human.” He pauses, feels Dean twitch next to him before going very still. “It was different. I could-- I didn’t have to think about how I felt, how I should feel, not like I do now. I wanted to be like that again. To forget what I am.” He closes his eyes. “To let myself pretend I was like you, could be with you, deserving of you. What you have, Dean… It’s important.”

Dean feels leaden, heavy and unable to do anything about it. He feels this way most mornings, afraid of what’s to come. This is something else. Dean had taken advantage of Castiel’s loyalty over and over again in the past. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it was something he had certainly done. To hear that Cas didn’t think himself worthy, however, was different. Dean may have held resentments against Cas, but the guy was still an angel of the lord. He hadn’t prayed like Sam had, hadn’t thought there was anything out there that might be looking out for them--and, those days, in comparison, were the easy times. He wasn’t worth it--wasn’t worth anything, really. He’d basically followed orders his entire life and now he was praised for the decisions he made. An angel _believed_ in _him_. He looks at him and scoffs, “Cas…”

They hear the door and Dean freezes before scrabbling for the blankets to cover them up. There wasn’t really any way to make this look less incriminating--not only were they naked, in the same bed, holding hands (again), but their clothes were strewn all over the floor.

Sam stares at them, a bag of burgers in his hand. He sets it on the table. He glances at them again and regrets it, fully noticing their complete lack of clothes. “Get dressed,” he says and walks out the door. It’s not that he _hates_ Cas or wants to keep Dean from doing what he does best--sleeping with anyone he could, _especially_ the night before a big fight, but he wasn’t expecting it.

He thought Cas would be their friend, that he’d eventually get used to seeing him without any rising anger or anguish, but he thought Dean wasn’t interested, not in _that_ way. It was hard not to think that Cas was, after everything he’d said to Dean, the way they interacted, the way their eye contact would sometimes make Sam more than a little uneasy, but… 

Well, maybe he should have seen it coming. After all, Dean liked to make repressing his feelings into a sport of championship levels. He knocks on the door, “You have one minute while I throw up the contents of my stomach in the bushes outside.” Brain bleach was still, unfortunately, not a real thing.

Inside, Dean straddles Castiel, looking down at him, examining him. “We’ll discuss this, alright?” It isn’t a phrase that usually finds itself coming out of his mouth. “I mean it.” There’s a lot he wants to say, like that he wants to keep this, wants more of it. He doesn’t want to lose Cas again--ever. He slides off and cleans himself up as best he can. “We survive, and…I don’t know. Maybe…” He shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, what he’s thinking until he kisses Cas again.

When Sam enters the room, cringing with a hand shielding his eyes--fingers parted, of course, as the gesture was mostly for show--he sits down. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.” It’s only laced with a hint of sarcasm. “But I do _not_ want to walk in on… _anything_.”

Dean laughs as Sam makes grossed out faces at them. His eyes wander to Cas and he sees the angel’s gaze meet his, mouth twisting from stoicism to a gentle smile. Yeah, he’d definitely be able to forgive him--like he had Sam. The world was fucked and, really, weren’t they all to blame?

He takes a seat between his brother and the angel his mind now has permission to gloat over having slept with. If he gets the chance, he’ll definitely do it again, if only to see what kinds of things the angel might do, might _want_ to do. He wonders if Cas wants to sleep with him in the bed, make himself feel even more human. Dean finds the idea more comforting than he thinks he should, like he’s getting soft in his old age, despite everything else he’s done. His loneliness and his anger have both lessened since his time traveling trip to Lawrence.

As they ride out the calm before the storm, Sam and Dean making fun of each other as they steal french fries and shove food into their faces, he feels happy. Castiel doesn’t so much as make an attempt to referee, still looking disheveled from the mayhem Dean had done to him. It was a nice camaraderie. If Bobby was around, Dean is sure he’d be calling them all “idjits” and smiling to himself, like he always did when they acted like the kids they never really had the chance to be.

Tomorrow they would face Dick Roman. They would defeat him, _destroy_ him, and save the world once again. Then, Dean could figure out what exactly he felt for Cas, what they would do next. He had family and that might have time to matter again. He slides his hand under the table, finding Castiel’s and gripping it tight, the angel tensing for a split second before allowing himself to return the gesture easily. Sam smirks and reserves his teasing for later.

They could do this.

~

_John drives back from the field, goes to work, lives his life._

_Mary tells him that she hopes that Dean and Cas found what they were looking for, that they got home safely, and John asks her who she’s talking about._

_She begins to say their names again, remembering their story, about the angels and the way Cas said he would do anything for Dean, about his struggle to redeem himself._

_She stops, shakes her head._

_There had been people--visitors, guests, **someone**. She knows there were. She can almost make out their faces, but it becomes hazy as she tries to focus in on them. Why can’t she remember who they were now?_

_It doesn’t matter, Mary supposes, but she still hopes everything had worked out for them--whoever they were. She places a hand on her stomach and feels the wriggle of life beneath her fingertips, unaware that she was just wishing him luck he desperately needed._

_Mary hums along to The Beatles and John quirks a smile at her, secure in their short-lived normal life, tasting happiness in a way they’d never know again._


End file.
